


First and Foremost

by KiroAngel



Category: The Flash (Comics), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Hopefully it comes off as artistic and not neurotic, M/M, Skips around a lot, there's a happy ending i swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-04-28 07:19:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5082787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiroAngel/pseuds/KiroAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They used to be good friends, neighbors and confidants and playmates. Now, they both wonder where that went.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End of the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! Basically, this is the product of an addiction to ColdFlash, a dash of insomnia, and Robotics class. Don't ask. 
> 
> Enjoy!  
> ~Kiro

"Got you again!" 

Len resisted the urge to smile fondly as he felt the small hand tug on his sleeve. He did allow a small quirk of the lips, a smirk as he looked down at the ten-year-old clinging to him. "You do."

"Now it's your turn. You gotta catch me!" The small smile, Len was sure, would have blinded him had he not been wearing his wraparound sunglasses to ward off the afternoon sunlight. This had been the third round of red light green light today, which had started after the young boy had thrown himself at Len and dragged him from the house. Len was only back for the weekend, after all, to see his sister. His father was at work, and with any luck would stay there for the next eternity. Len and his sister were ready to provide the other, less dirty cops, with evidence for quite some time, and the arrest was supposed to be made today. He figured both he and his sister needed some sort of distraction. 

Len hadn't been home in two years, since he left home at seventeen, and hadn't seen Barry since then. He remembered watching the young boy on weekends, being dragged outside to play or help with a science project, making boxed macaroni and cheese for himself, his sister, and the boy on nights when Joe had been working late and Len had used any excuse to get himself and Lisa out of the house. He hadn't realized how much he had missed the little tyke in the last two years until he'd seen him. 

Barry had grown in the past twenty six months. He was taller, a little thinner, a little longer of limb and mature of speech. His hair didn't fall into his eyes; it was cropped back now close to his forehead. Len knew in two more years he would be even more changed, and in two more near unrecognizable. But Len wouldn't be back in two years, or four, or six. He had enough money scraped together for a tiny apartment in Keystone, just large enough for himself and his sister. He wouldn't have time to visit, or even think about the little boy who had been a constant part of Len and Lisa's lives for much of the past years, between his "work" and taking care of Lisa. He felt bad for leaving the boy, again, but he pushed that out of his mind. It was better to just concentrate on these old games that he knew Barry had pulled out just for him. 

"Sure you don't wanna switch to cope and robbers, kid?" Len asked, to which Barry nodded easily. 

"Sure!"

~~~

"You're really gonna go?" Joe asked, watching Len load the few suitcases they had into the back of his beat-up truck. A small pair of eyes peered out at them from a window. 

"Yeah."

"You know, you could stay here. We have that spare room..."

"No." Len slammed the trunk on their few belongings and swiped off his hands, still not looking at Joe. "We can take care of ourselves."

"If you need-"

"Joe." Len turned to the older man, whom he had known since he was eight and the Wests had moved in next door. He suddenly felt too old, too rough, too hard for his nineteen years. "You know you can't do that. With my record-"

Joe interrupted, steely eyed. "If you wouldn't have resorted to breaking the law, if you had comes to me or cleaned up-"

"Not an option," Len said shortly. "And it's still not. I'm not living off your charity, and neither is my sister. I've ruined my chances and you know it. Now you can shut up about it." Joe's eyes flashed, his voice gaining a note of gravel. 

"Lisa deserves-"

"You shut up about my sister," Len growled between gritted teeth, hands clenching at his sides as he glared at the other. "I'm doing what I have to to give her what I can and you don't get to lecture me about it." He turned back to his car. With a short, brutal motion he yanked open the door, which squeaked in protest. "Don't talk to me again, Joe." The elder man was silent behind him, and Len stepped up into the car. As he buckled his seatbelt, he couldn't help but glance back at the house beside his once-prison, never-home. A flash of red, a lock of blonde showed in the window before disappearing. Len frowned and looked down, starting the car. 

"What did Joe say?" Lisa asked from the passenger seat, despite having heard it all. 

"Shut it, Lis," Len growled, and pulled away. 

~~~

He wasn't recognizable when next Barry saw him. He wanted to blame the mask he wore, or the parka, or maybe the adrenaline pumping in his veins and the barrel of a gun pointed at his center of mass. Years later, though, he could admit that wasn't it. It was the sharp lines worn from hard times, harder even than before, and a lifetime of mistrust and betrayal and living on the run. It was the stuff stance, nothing like the playful or affectionate open stance that Len had come to eventually hold when he was alone with Barry and his sister. It struck Barry, oddly, as the stance which he had caught Len using when he confronted his father, the one time Barry had seen, which has branded its way into his brain. The wiry strength, stiff and protective, putting up a front and clenching his fists against the trembles of fear. Jaw clamped shut, eyes flashing with daring and a hint of fear against terrible odds, offering bitten off explanations as to why there was a foreign kid in his father's living room. This new stance was not similar at all, and yet it struck a similar chord in Barry. 

Now, some eighteen years later, Len was nothing like what Barry had seen on that day. This new Len, this "Captain Cold", was all loose flow and easy bravado. There was no warmth in his eyes, rather the ice contained there was reminiscent of that boy of sixteen as he stared down his progenitor and tormentor. The easy confidence was something Barry had seen sometimes in their play, only after the worst days, when he was trying to hide something from Barry. Not that the boy had known exactly that at the time, only having worked it out years later. The sharp smile was new, as was the fluidity with which the man handled the gun in his hand. He was unafraid of strength, now. 

All in all, the man was both completely different from the teen Barry had known and also very similar. It was no wonder that Barry has struggled to recognize him, even though he felt in his heart of hearts that he should have. Just like he felt, somewhere deep in his heart of hearts, that he could have done something to change it. 

Maybe, he contemplated with head hung between his hands in a dark and sticky bar booth, if he had just noticed Len's father... If he had just mentioned it to Joe, or if he had questioned the bruises that showed when they would play in the street... If he could have done something... If he had recognized Len that first time they met, and convinced him to step away from that life...

~~~

The kid was different. He was no longer that tiny kid he'd met when the younger had shyly asked to retrieve his ball from the yard. He wasn't the small boy who Len had time and again offered to knock sense into bullies half his size for. He was taller, for one, all long limbs and lithe muscle. He could deal with his own bullies now. (Len tried to keep his mind off the thought that he was one of those bullies now. Nothing good came from that direction of thought.) There was still a painfully open, childish innocence that Len hadn't seen in a long damn time. There, still, was the ideological optimism, the belief that there was a bit of good in everyone. Len had long since known that was a lie, had long since had every drop of good burnt out of him. Too bad the damn kid couldn't realize that. 

He slammed the empty beer can down on the already stained and sticky, scarred and stinking table that was the centerpiece of this damned warehouse. He ripped the top off the cooler next to him, icicles flying, and took out another beer, chilled courtesy of the cold gun, and popped the lid. As he drained his third can this afternoon, he stared blankly at the far wall, seeing nothing from this decade. 

~~~

A loud knock, light but persistent, echoed through the house. Len knew the visitor had been there for a while, had knocked one time before, but he had ignored it in the hope that they would go away. No such luck, and if the person kept at it they would wake Dad. The bastard had actually made it to bed that afternoon, so it was a good day, and Len sure as hell didn't want some dumbass door to door salesman to ruin that. 

He yanked open the door with a violent, "What?!" He wasn't answered right away, and he didn't see anyone on the steps. He was just about to slam the door and curse ding dong ditchers when he looked down and saw a little kid, looked like he was maybe five and scrawny for that, staring up at him. His frown ticked down even further, but his voice softened from what it had been. "What do you need, kid?"

The kid swallowed and puffed up his little chest, obviously pulling up his courage. "Can I get my ball, please? We were playing catch but Iris threw it too far and it went over the fence and now it's in your yard, but we need it back so we can play. So can I come get it?" 

Len took a long look at the tiny human in front of him. He wore a bright red hoodie, worn and obviously well-loved, and shoes that were dangerously worn. Bright blue eyes glinted hopefully up from a bright face and a curtain of golden blond bangs. Len sighed and shoved a hand through his thick brown locks. "Alright, fine. Just, wait here and I'll go get it for you." He left the door cracked open and turned, trekking carefully through the house so as not to wake his father. 

A few minutes and cursing the lawn, which had a mind of its own, later, Len sidled back up to the door, bright red ball in hand. He stepped onto the porch, shutting the door carefully behind him, and held the ball out to the kid. "This it?"

"Yeah! Thank you so much, Mister!" The boy bounced onto his toes and took the ball from Len, beaming up at him. Len blinked, reminded slightly of Lisa when she wanted something and was willing to look extremely cute to get it. 

"Yeah, sure thing, kid." He turned to open the door and go back in he house, but froze with his hand on the knob when the voice called a bit shyly behind him. 

"Do you wanna play with us? Joe says it's not healthy to stay inside all day."

Len looked back at the kid, the open street, and what must be the kid's friend waiting near the edge of the lawn. He glanced back at the house, empty of Lisa since she was playing with a friend, with his dad passed out drunk in the master bedroom. It took precisely two seconds for it to click, and for him to turn back to the kid on his doorstep. "Sure. It's not like I've got anything better to do."

As he stepped after the gleeful child, he thought that he must be truly desperate to willingly put up with small children. If only he knew. 


	2. A Sour False Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angstiness. Barry's growing up and Len is too, and maybe they aren't meant for games anymore.

It was the early days back then, so early that Barry was still calling himself "the Streak" like some kind of bad public nudity gimmick. Barry was still just excited to be getting out and doing something, to tie up the bad guys and leave them for the police, to stop a crime in the making. As a result, he wasn't too keen on the details. He was in, out, in, out, zigzagging all over the scene and just having a good time. He got three of the four crooks, which he figured was good, and caught the flash of a face as he flashed by. It seemed a bit familiar at the time, but he definitely wasn't concentrating on that. Besides, he would confide to Lisa years later, that robbery outfit was very unflattering and did nothing to help Barry remember the handsome teen from his youth.  
  
As such, Barry never slowed down to think about the man he had seen until much later, pacing the halls with Joe and looking over the binder of known criminals matching the description he had given. His eyes flicked over the pages, found the matching face, and leaned over to point. "Him." His eyes flicked down over the information.  
  
"Leonard Snart?" Joe asked, voice a marbled stew of conflicting steely emotion.  
  
"Wa-what?!" Barry, mid-stride, tripped over thin air and nearly went sprawling over the linoleum floor. He caught himself, barely, on the wall, then blinked, dazed, for a moment, and looked back up at Joe, propping himself against the wall with an elbow. "You don't mean...?"  
  
"I'm afraid so," Joe acknowledged gravely, suddenly sounding a lot more world-weary, with old steel woven under his words like it was the only think keeping them standing. "He got in with the wrong people after he left, Barry. He got in a bad place, did some bad things." Which, Barry had known. Joe had told him so every time he had asked about him, or when he was an adult, idly contemplated trying to reconnect. Eventually, Barry had stopped wondering.  
  
He knew that Len wasn't some nice, if steely, older teen who would put up with his games anymore. He just hadn't realized how far the man had fallen. Somewhere, he had still thought of those hurting yet soft smiles on a bad day, and the roll of the eyes and soft huff of laughter when Barry knew he had succeeded at making him amused. He still thought of that old Lenny, when maybe he wasn't him at all anymore.  
  
Slowly, Barry pushed himself away from the wall, and was met with Joe's comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, kid, but if you really think you saw him..."  
  
"... No... No, yeah, it was him. I just..." Barry looked down at the mug shot photo in the binder. Len was staring straight at the camera, icy hard stare promising that no one could push him an inch or crack his shields. Such hard walls, where was that teen Barry had once known? When had that scarred but still tender soul been buried away under... This? Those cold eyes, they weren't Lenny anymore.  
  
Joe squeezed his shoulder softly. "I know, son. Come on. We both have work to do."  
  


* * *

It became something of a regular sequence of events after that. Barry would make the trip across the front yards once Joe picked him and Iris up from school to knock on the door. Len's father would usually still be at work at that time, or if it was his day off he was off drinking. Len came out, sometimes with Lisa and sometimes without, to play keep away with the pouty tykes and catch and purposely lose at tag. Lisa and the boy got along alright, mostly by her sneering and pretending to be better than him, because she was two years older than Barry, "two whole years, Lenny! He's, like, a little kid, why are you even playing with him anyways?" Barry's friend, Iris, was polite enough, but sometimes she would watch Len so closely that he felt unnerved, like she knew something he didn't. She was way too astute for a little kid.  
  


* * *

"I don't get it," Barry moaned into his bare hands, fingers digging into the skin of his forehead. "Why does he do it? He could have done so much better..."  
  


* * *

Though it had been some thirteen years since Len had left Barry, he still remembered how he had felt during those times. The betrayal, the grief, the hurt had been way beyond what he knew he should have been feeling with the loss of a childhood friend. The thing was, Len hadn't just been a friend. He had been the cool kid, the one that Barry looked up to, the one he had wanted as his role model and the one he wanted to spend every hour of every day with. He had been the first person apart from Iris that Barry had really connected with. He spent nearly every hour of every day with Iris, but when he was with Len he could almost feel that all melt away. The dry smirk on the other's thin lips, the flex of the other's immature but already advanced musculature, the amusement in his eyes, the way his deep brown hair ruffled in the wind... Barry may have always been in love with Iris, but that didn't mean that he couldn't fall again. Besides, Iris had always been the sort of puppy love that others talked about in school, but when Barry hit puberty and Len flexed his muscles playing ultimate Frisbee with the two of them... Barry had woken panting from more Len-themed dreams than Iris-themed.  
  
When Len left, that only made things more painful. Without a word, he had been gone. Barry remembered waiting, sitting on the curb in front of Len's house, for hours until his fingers and toes froze numb in the cutting wind. Iris would try to come out and coax him in, but he would beg for just a few more minutes each time. He even braved the front door, which Len had asked, no, demanded that Barry never do after that first time. Len's father had answered, sneering and telling Barry that no, Len was not home, and would not be home, ever. When Barry had tried to stammer out a question, the man had sneered and slammed the door in his face, letting out a waft of the smell of alcohol.  
  
After that, Barry hadn't asked for Len anymore. He didn't wait outside, but some nights he would wait up, staring out his window at the street outside, trying to see that singular headlight and straining for the unrestrained growl of the motorcycle Len was so proud of. It never appeared, not for the four months it took for Barry to finally stop looking.  
  
He had been so elated when Len had finally returned, he had immediately wrapped him in the tightest hug with the brightest smile he could muster. It had been two years, but suddenly Barry felt like it had been no time at all. He had been so eager to just hang on Len's every word, learn everything that had happened to the teen since he had been gone. And then Len had left that night, and it was all that it had been the last time but more.  
  


* * *

After that, Barry didn't want to go after the thieves from the armed truck robbery. His heart felt torn in strips, and he wished that he could ignore it, just let it all fade away. It wouldn't, though, his heart wouldn't let it. It kept pumping, incessantly, with each beat prompting "he betrayed you." "He left you." "He's done bad things." He couldn't, physically could not resist the pull when he had to go, but he knew even as he arced like lightning towards the warehouse that he wouldn't be able to do much against that man. He felt sick to his stomach, its contents sloshing at superseded in time with his steps, and for the first time since he had woken from the coma he discovered that running wasn't always a rush. Right then it felt as if he was running into sickly fumes, nausea climbing in his throat as he got closer to his destination. He wished he didn't need to go, wished that Joe could just stay out of this, but Joe was stubborn and this was personal, for both of them, now. Joe was in danger and Len was doing something very illegal and Barry knew that just because they had a history, Len wasn't the type to pull punches.  
  
As he arced into the room, carried on a crackling bolt, he saw out of the corner of his eye that face, again, though it was coated in shadow, and more prominent was the bolt of blue arcing straight towards Joe. Barry could hardly help but to intercept it, and all of the sudden his internal pain wasn't as internal anymore. He tossed himself back, landing hard on the marble floor and clenched his hands around his injury, grinding his teeth. Shit, Len was a lot better with a gun than he ever was with a football.  
  
"You okay?" Barry couldn't exactly answer that in any definitive way. On the one hand, the nausea was threatening to make a very concrete appearance on his lap. On the other, he could feel the numbness already fleeing into outright burning pain. On the third hand, he had just been shot in the stomach by /Lenny/, and well, he didn't want to worry Joe with a brutally honest answer.  
  
"It burns," he gritted out instead, and peeked out at his ex-friend. Another bolt soared his way, and he was off again.  
  
_Dammit_ , Barry thought as he ran, pressing back a unique and volatile combination of pain, nausea, frustration, anger, and sorrow to scoop up bystanders, _what he wouldn't give for an argument like they used to_ _have, solved by instant lemonade and a punch to the shoulder._  He dashed from pillar to pillar, from person to couple to person, and onwards, a sick mirrored race of what his childhood had consisted of. Soon, his frostbite betrayed him, and he had to stop to rest, leaning heavily against a pillar as if it could give him the emotional support he desperately needed.  
  
When he looked up from catching his breath, he saw the white blue flame and didn't think any more. He ran, sprinted, as fast and faster than he had or thought he could and still it wasn't enough. He hit the ground next to the frozen corpse, laced with frost, and his breath caught in his throat. Tears, hotter than fire in his eyes, coursed down his cheeks  
in tiny droplets. This wasn't- this wasn't Len. This wasn't a game anymore. This wasn't a race to the finish line, and this wasn't the teen he had spent afternoons teasing and competing with. This was real, this was death, and this... This couldn't happen again. He couldn't let it happen again. No more "Barry and Len", now it was "Flash and Cold". No more games.  
  
He didn't notice when his old friend turned and left the theater. He didn't see the silent remorse weighing down those familiar shoulders. He didn't turn to look. He sprinted to the nearest trash can and hurled the contents of his stomach into it, watching the milky bile drip in strings down into the can for a moment. He slowly wiped his mouth. Dead bodies, he could handle, but betrayal? That was a different story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So pretty angsty this chapter. I would say I'm sorry, but I'm not, and I make it a habit not to lie to my readers. I'm not sure how this angst will be fixed in the future, but rest assured it shall. I would also like to mention that I have no beta or editor whatsoever, so any crap is my crap alone, and if you happen to be masochistic enough to want to deal with these things, feel free to volunteer.
> 
> Anywho, I hope you guys enjoyed it! I don't know when the next installment is coming, so enjoy this while it lasts.
> 
> Love,  
> ~Kiro


	3. Passing Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Len was up to since he left his father's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have been in a writing fugue for the past few days and couldn't resist putting up the last installment. Thank you, CathyMK, for commenting and triggering this mad writing spree. It is possible, friends. It has been clinically proven that comments help me post faster.
> 
> Anyway, hope you all enjoy this new update!  
> ~Kiro

It wasn't that this was something Len had wanted to do with his life. He never expected, twenty years ago, that he would be skipping from safe house to safe house and running through a continuous, vicious, never-ending cycle of planning, recruiting, stealing, fencing, planning, recruiting, stealing, fencing. He never expected that he would be thought of as a supervillain and facing off with a guy who could run faster than a bullet named "The Flash". Not that he had ever expected to have a normal life, but this was not what he had expected. The path here was a long and tiring one, and it had nearly killed him more than twice. He was good at it, though, and it kept him and Lisa alive and free and supplied for. That was more than he might once have thought they'd have. 

* * *

From the very moment Len had stepped out of his father's house for good for the first time, when he had run away at seventeen, he had been doing what he had to. He did things that he wasn't proud of, things that he never wanted to do again but did anyway. When your choice was either to starve sleeping on a park bench or join some buddies you met at a bar in housebreaking, that wasn't much of a choice to make. Not for him. 

 

Besides, he was good. He was good enough that eventually, he ditched the crew he had been with. He was better than them, and they were all wrong on the timing, the planning... He could do better on his own. As leader, he would get bigger cuts, and he could go after bigger and better loot. As it was, he wasn't getting enough to get better than a crappy apartment, but once he had a base... Well, Len had always been good at planning. Even though he'd been forced to leave his sister, it wasn't going to end that way. He just needed to be able to save up enough money to get her out of that hellhole and support them both. So he took it a step up, and a step further. 

* * *

It had been a year and a half, and Len had been planning heist after heist to get enough money to spring his sister. He had a solid crew, a couple heists under their belt, and another in the works for a few months from now. They hadn't been caught, so far Len had been able to avoid more than a trespassing charge, and he was ready. 

 

It had been daytime, the autumn sun filtering down through water-thin clouds to light the streets. Central was colorful in autumn, all reds and golds and yellows, scattered over the streets. Len's second favorite season, but only because in winter, he got to see his baby sister fly. 

 

Len leaned over the low wall, propping his elbows on the door to the rink, and watched as Lisa glided through her exercises on the ice. They were cooling down for the day, and all her fancy twirls and spins had come earlier, but this was Len's favorite time to watch her. Her body was warm and loose, as relaxed as she ever was, though he could see the lines of tension still in her small body, and a bruise peeking from beneath her collar bone. It had gotten worse since he had left. 

 

Lisa was completely enveloped in her cool down circuits of the rink, trying to eek out the last she could of the distraction before she had to leave the ice and go back to Lewis's heavy hands. The other girls were already dribbling off the ice, but she was staying behind as long as she could. Len watched on, face as straight and composed as ever, and saw the exact moment when she noticed him. Her eyes caught his and her face ran through an army of emotions, finally settling on anger as she sliced towards him, cutting the ice to ribbons. 

 

"You!" She called to him, as soon as she could be heard by him and not by the other girls stripping of their skates. "Where have you been?! It's been months, years since you left, and now you just show up?! It's been weeks since you called, I thought you'd finally gotten killed in a ditch somewhere!" Len gave her a small, sad half-smile, stepping back from the wall as she skated through the swinging door. 

 

"Hey, Lis. I came to get you."

 

* * *

To say Lisa wasn't happy was an understatement. Once he explained, however, once he filled her in on his plan to get Lewis out of their lives once and for all, she quieted. She listened intently as he explained the files, the books that Lewis kept and how to get them, who to bring them to and what they would need to do to make sure everything was used to put him away for as long as possible, and to make sure that Lewis knew nothing about it until it had already happened. Everything had to go exactly according to plan, or it would all come crashing down. This wasn't just another heist. They were gambling with their lives. 

* * *

Len would always consider that the most difficult operation of his life.  Watching Lisa, his baby sister, up on that stand and describing how their father had sketchy characters, convicted felons, coming by he house, and there was always extra liquor money after those visits. Describing how his heavy hands told her not to spill the beans, the conversations held lightly in the kitchen over the reek of alcohol and heavy laughter from raucous throats. The threats, and the blood on the carpet from muddy boot prints several nights. That was difficult, but more so was seeing how she flinched when she saw their father's glare directed at her. 

 

Len hadn't been present when Lewis was carted away, but he knew their father well enough to know what lies he had spouted, the smooth and easy grin and claims of not knowing what they meant. It wasn't until he was absolutely certain that he was caught, no way out, did the angry glares and spat words, the shouted insults and oaths start. But the raw hatred in that case when it connected with his baby sister made Len want to step between them, challenge their father right there in the courtroom. He didn't, of course. He knew how to keep his cool. 

* * *

Len was too occupied with keeping him and his sister fed and content after that for nostalgia. Occasionally, when he was up another late night meticulously combing through the timing of security cameras, police response times, rounds of security officers, a thought would slip through about that little punk he'd seen for only an hour or two before packing up and leaving again. A shock of blonde hair, a bright, unabashed smile that had been so much more desperate when he had seen it last. Then he would shake it off, pour another cup of coffee, and throw himself back into planning. There was nothing good, he knew from experience, that came from longing for something you couldn't have. Until you could. And one day, he thought idly as he ran through another set of calculations, maybe he could have it. A long time from now. In another lifetime. 

**Author's Note:**

> I promise this will eventually have a happy ending. But right now I'm having trouble getting from point a to point b. Part of that is that I've never actually seen the television series, I'm just using that for a premise of their first meeting because I can't get that for the comics. This is definitely comic Barry and comic Len in terms of characterization and physical description, though. 
> 
> In any case, please please please if you have any ideas for what should happen next or anything you're craving for the thing, comment or message me or something. I'm still not sure where I'm going with this so I'd love to hear what you want and maybe it'll spark my creative juices. I'll love your feedback. 
> 
> Thanks!  
> ~Kiro


End file.
